The shadow grows and edges toward the plain;
The call of the old steeple chimes and weeps.
The evening wind frays the wool
Of the golden sheep that graze in the sky.

Let us go back, my sweet, along the row of willows,
Your dear body nestled against my arm;
A warm breath perfumes the valley,
And invites us to slow our footsteps.

Let us linger, since the breeze is gentle,
Since the moon coats the path in silver,
Since the flowers glisten on the moss,
Since your heart pulses underneath my hand.

Let us linger by the passing stream;
Let us gather the fruit of the mystic orchard;
And in your eyes where space blazes forth
Let the shepherd's star shine for me!